Interview D.K. Deters Author of Christmas Once Again
Happy holidays to all! Give a big welcome to D.K. Deters, author of Christmas Once Again. Have a seat and grab an insulated mug. I’ve got hot chocolate, hot cider and coffee. Choose your pot, they’re labeled. Pick your choice of a Snicker-doodle, Chocolate Chip or Peanut butter cookie from the plate. Yep, I baked them myself. Lets find out a little about D.K. and see what Christmas Once Again is all about. Thanks for joining us!
Hi Tena. Thanks for having me.
What inspired this particular story?
I was watching a news broadcast about ordinary people pitching together to save a stranger’s life. It got me to thinking about how one selfless act could be life-changing. Since I always get sentimental around the holidays, a Christmas romance felt right.
What makes you laugh out loud?
By far, those hilarious everyday events that we couldn’t have orchestrated even if we tried. Check out my favorite holiday memory below.
What is your favorite Christmas tradition?
It’s hard to pick just one, but we love it when our children and their families can make it home for Christmas.
Why did you choose the cover concept you did?
The cover artist asked me to pick two significant elements from the story. I chose a missing painting, which may or may not have special powers and a cabin in the Colorado Rocky Mountains.
Favorite holiday memory?
When my son was in kindergarten, he played Santa in a grade school holiday program. Classmates took on the roles of the reindeer, all decked out with cute little pipe cleaner antlers and connected with holiday garland.
At the back of the auditorium, they waited for their cue. My son held on to the reins (the garland) while standing inside Santa’s sleigh (a big box with a shoulder harness.) The eight tiny reindeer took off at a run with their sites on the stage. As Santa hustled along at top speed, his beard and pointy hat bouncing, the sleigh slid forward and tilted up as if could fly. Now Santa couldn’t see ahead, and he had to rely on his reindeer to get him past the audience. In a flurry, the children arrived center stage to laughter and applause.
I still chuckle when I think about it. (And thank goodness, no one was injured.)
SPEED ROUND FOR A LITTLE ADDED FUN:
Speed Round (one word only answer): Yep, I know torture for a writer!<evil laugh>
Favorite Christmas movie: Serendipity
Favorite Christmas book: Elf
Last Christmas or holiday book read: Elf
Favorite color: Red
Stilettos or flipflops or elf shoes: Flipflops
Coffee or tea or hot chocolate: Coffee
Ebook or audiobook or paperback: Ebook
Pencil or pen or candy cane: Pen
Favorite Christmas Carole or song: Mistletoe
All-time favorite Christmas present: Ring
Favorite dessert: Pie
Christmas Candy or Cake: Candy
Favorite thing to do to relax during the holidays Read
Champagne or gin or eggnog: Champagne
Paranormal or Historical: Historical
Wonder Woman or Top Model or Tinkerbell: Wonder Woman
Favorite Christmas or holiday TV show: Disney
Hot or cold: Hot
POV: Third
I’d die if I don’t have: Coffee
Review or Not: Review
Click on the cover to read more or purchase!
Tell us a little about Christmas Once Again.
She’s dead broke. And eviction looms. On Christmas Eve antique consultant Madison Knight takes a phone call from local rancher Zach Murdock. Through a mix-up at an estate sale, Madison’s company purchased his grandmother’s beloved painting. He offers double the money for its return.
Madison risks her job to track down the artwork, but success falls short when she’s stuck in a blizzard. Stranded, she seeks help from a frontier family. Are they living off the grid, or did she somehow travel through time?
Zach’s the only person who knows her plan. He also knows a secret about his gran’s painting. It’s up to him to rescue Madison, but maybe he’s not cut out to be a hero.
How about a sneak peek between the pages of Christmas Once Again?
“My grandmother had an estate sale last week, and she didn’t want it sold, unfortu—”
“Oh?” She should’ve kept quiet. Run-ins with greedy family members happened in the antique business, and a judging attitude didn’t increase revenues.
“It wasn’t on purpose,” he said. “The day was chaotic, and someone had shuffled around the artwork. We didn’t realize it was missing until a couple of days ago, and it took this long to sort out the mix-up and discover your shop bought it.”
She felt guilty for jumping to the wrong conclusion. “I see how that could happen. It’s obvious the piece is treasured by your grandmother. If it becomes necessary, we have the resources to find a similar style. Is there a specific artist or significance?”
Held hostage by the slow computer response and trying not to rush him, she picked up one of the hand weights, intending to fit in a few curls.
“Keep in mind Gran’s ninety-two, and she thinks…”
“Uh-huh.” With her free hand, she grabbed the latte and took a sip.
“Gran thinks it holds a special power.”
Madison chose that moment to swallow, and the creamy espresso went down the wrong pipe. A dry, hacking cough followed, and she dropped her hand weight, which thudded on the carpet. For heaven’s sake, he didn’t hear her, did he?
You can purchase Christmas Once Again at: Amazon The Wild Rose Press Barnes & Noble
About the Author:
D.K. Deters credits her parents, who grew up in southeastern Kansas, for inspiration to write about the Old West. From an early age, the likes of Jesse James and the Dalton Gang were often included in family lore. To this day, she’s not sure how much is true.
After earning a Bachelor of Science in Business, D. K. followed a profession in the telecommunications industry before turning to a writing career. When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her adult children and their families.
D.K. loves to hear from readers and other authors!
Email: dkdetersauthor@hotmail.com
Social Media:
Website: www.dkdeters.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/dk_deters
Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/dkdeterscom
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/d-k-deters
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18486948.D_K_Deters
Thank you for having me on your blog. Happy Holidays!
It was wonderful having you with us today. Enjoy your holidays and don’t drink too much egg nog. LOL Please feel free to stop by anytime. Good Luck with Christmas Once Again!
Views: 425
Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Christmas, Christmas Once Again, Contemporary, D.K. Deters, fantasy, Holiday, Paranormal, Time travel, Western by Tena Stetler with 20 comments.
Discussion with Nancy Gideon Author of Prince Of Dreams
Give a spooktacular welcome to Nancy Gideon author of Prince of Dreams. Today she’s graciously agreed to talk about Vampires verses Werewolves in honor of upcoming All Hallows! Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cauldron. Take your choice of a bat wing Chocolate Chip or Pumpkin, or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate, and let’s find out a little about Nancy Gideon and her Prince of Dreams as well as her take on Vampires and Werewolves. Pssst…Don’t forget to enter the Rafflecopter at the bottom of the post.
A peek between the pages of Prince of Dreams . . .
An unnatural being from a family of shapeshifters.
Even now Ophelia didn’t know whether to laugh or weep at the absurdity of it. Things like that didn’t exist. Except she knew they did, just outside the peripheral, where worlds of fact and fiction met and mingled and blurred. She’d felt their presence in the shadows of reality all her life. She met them in her dreams and visions.
Kip Terriot gave them gorgeous face and form, but underneath, he was that creature with red eyes and sharp teeth. Her big, bad wolf, who’d protected her from a robber and defended her from abuse, who’d rescued her sister from the attack she still refused to acknowledge. Who loved his family and would do anything for them?
Who she loved too much to let go but couldn’t give what he needed because she wasn’t his kind.
Which was the greater fear, what he was or that she’d fail him?
“What are we going to do, Phe? I don’t want to lose this.” He brought her knuckles to his lips for a kiss.
“I don’t want to lose you. But I already have, haven’t I? You’re a million miles away right now and almost out of reach.”
“I’m right here.” His argument brought her to him, her knees stepping over his lap to straddle him, arms circling his shoulders, face nestling against the curve of his throat where she rode his hard swallow. He held tight, trying to believe they could make this moment last, this glorious, fiery, tender moment that offered so much and promised so little.
“You are my prince,” she whispered, breath moist and soft against his neck. “My Prince of Cups. You rode into my life bringing romance, shaking my world to its foundation that first night I met you. It was in the cards.”
“Fate,” he murmured, smile in his voice. “No escaping it.” His fingers threaded through her hair, pulling back gently to tip up her face, offering sweetly parted lips and glistening eyes.
He’d planned a sweet kiss but the taste of urgency and need in the sweep of her tongue ruined that noble ambition. They feasted upon one another for long, desperate minutes until she rocked back, thumb swiping the dampness from his mouth.
“Go, be who you need to be for them. Then come back and be who I need you to be.
About the Author:
https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/109994-nancy-gideon-by-moonlight
It was wonderful having you with us today. Please feel free to stop by anytime. Good Luck with Prince of Dreams!
Views: 394
Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged House of Terriot-book four, magic, Nancy Gideon, Paranormal, Prince of Dreams, Shapeshifters, Vampire by Tena Stetler with 4 comments.
Early Halloween Treat from Laura Buckle Author of Flesh!
for this time of year. I looked around at the materials I had rolling around my
craft room and raided the displays at the dollar store to come up with some
Halloween luminaries to perch in my windows.
Two wide-mouth jars
A plastic witch
A plastic ghost
Black sand
Glue gun and glue sticks
Plastic spider rings
Ribbon
Two LED light strings – I used pumpkins and bats
lights, sand, witch, and ghost at my local dollar store. So I’ve invested about
five bucks in this project. I won’t too feel
bad if it doesn’t turn out!
a jar and the ghost in jars. I had originally intended to use mason jars, but I
didn’t have any with mouths wide enough to squeeze the plastic sculptures
through. So I used some plastic jars I had handy. I settled the witch and ghost
in their new homes, then poured some black sand around their feet to simulate
ground. You could also use glitter or black salt or fine pebbles.
that I could use fairy lights for this step, too, but I liked the bats and
pumpkins.
around so that they showed most clearly from the front. I made sure that the
tail of the light string, with the battery pack, extended outside of the jars. I
wanted to be able to turn my luminaries on and off and change batteries without
digging the whole string out of the jar, though you could leave it in the jar,
too. Here’s what they looked like:
damage the thin wire. I made sure that the wire fed out the back side of the
jar. If I needed more room, I would have cut out part of the lid or put the
pack behind the figure inside the jar, but this seemed to work fine with these
materials.
from the bag of spiders. I cut the ring part off the spiders so that they would
lie flat.
the center of the bow, I glued a spider.
“Amanda, I…Oh.”
I don’t know what else to say. My brain just shuts down.
She is wearing the sheet, wound around her like a toga. It trails behind her bare feet, sort of like a painting about Greek goddesses I’ve seen in art books. She’s leaning over another body stored in the cooler unit on a cart. Her back is to me, and I can only see her pale skin and her burgundy-black hair shuddering.
“Amanda.”
She turns at the sound of my voice, seeming only to hear me for the first time. Her face is covered in dark blood. In her hand, she’s holding a big chunk of purple flesh. Her eyes are half-closed. The autopsy incision on the elderly body below her has been ripped open, and I’m pretty sure that what she’s holding is a lung.
“So hungry…” she murmurs.
I retreat until my back presses against the cold door. A whimper escapes my lips, and I drop the laundry basket with a sharp crack of plastic on the tile floor. This has to be a dream. A screwed-up anxiety dream that I’ll wake up from any moment now…
Amanda’s black eyes snap open. She stares at the chunk of flesh in her hand. “I…Agh…What’s going on?”
Lothar waddles over to her and begins to beg. Bile rises in my throat. “That’s Mrs. Canner,” I manage to answer. “She’s seventy-two and died of surgery complications for varicose veins. Deep vein thrombosis, I think. I don’t remember.” I’m babbling, trying to keep the bile down.
Amanda drops the lung with a wet splat. Lothar scrambles to it and begins scarfing it down. Her hands are trembling. She presses them to her temples. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand.”
I nudge the laundry basket closer to her with my foot. “I brought you some clothes. And, um. Food. You should get dressed.”
I think I should be afraid. I think I really ought to be. But Amanda seems genuinely confused. She reaches for the clothes I’ve brought her. To be polite, I know that I should really look away. But I can’t move. I am not turning my back on her. My heart pounds, and I struggle to take deep, uneven breaths.
Amanda unwinds the sheet and slips into my clothes. Though I avert my eyes, I see that her shoulder and side are still torn open. But my mother hasn’t begun the autopsy yet, so there is no Y-incision across her chest and abdomen.
“Do you remember what happened to you?” I manage to ask. I congratulate myself for having a rational thought. Woot.
Her voice is halting, and her brow wrinkles as she struggles to button my jeans. “I remember…something was chasing me. Jesus, it hurt…” Her hand comes up to her neck, and she seems to remember, fingering the edges of the wound. “Am I in a hospital?” she asks again.
I suck in a breath. “No. You’re at my house.” It’s not a lie. Not really.
She scans the room, as if registering the sight of the cadavers. “You’re the girl whose parents run the funeral home. The Ghoul Girl.”
“It’s gonna be okay,” I tell her.
“Why am I here?” Her breath makes ghosts in the cold air.
“The Sheriff found you, alongside the road.” That’s true also, even if not the whole truth. “I think we should get you upstairs, so you can talk to my parents…”
She shakes her head, and her dark hair slaps across her face. “No. I…Oh my god. I’m here because…somebody thought I was dead?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah.”
Her hands press to the wound on her side. “But I’m not dead!”
“I…uh…I think we need to get you to the hospital.” I tentatively reach toward her, to grasp her arm and guide her upstairs, toward the light of the much more civilized parlor and rational discussion. This is so far over my head, and I need my parents to handle it.
She shakes her head. “No. No. No.”
I hold her elbow gently, trying to keep her calm until I can get her upstairs to my parents. Her skin radiates cold through the sweatshirt, and I can see that the edges of her neck wound are dry, not seeping so much as a hint of blood. “Come with me.” I open the door and gently lead her into the lab, as if I’m herding a frightened cat. She gazes at the stainless-steel equipment. “I was here. I remember being here.”
“Come upstairs,” I urge, struggling to keep my composure. I use all the empathy that I’ve learned, dealing with grieving family members, trying to understand the shock and lead her away from the Body Shop.
She squints up at the buzzing light. “You were here, weren’t you? You and that woman. Looking at me.”
“My mother,” I say. I’m thinking crap crap crap. I’ve heard of cases of people whose vitals have dropped far beyond detection, who have awoken in hospital morgues. This has never happened to us. Not ever. Oh shit. The other body. Maybe it the same thing…
“The woman with that knife…” Her fingers go to her sternum, where my mother’s scalpel had rested. All of a sudden, Amanda becomes rooted in place, as immovable as a mountain.
“No one’s going to hurt you,” I promise. “Let me make you some coffee.”
She shakes her head, and I feel her trembling. Her eyes slide to the back door.
She slips from my grip. Before I can stop her, she rushes to the back door. She slams it open with a sound like a gunshot and plunges into the darkness.
It was Spooktacular having you with us today. Please feel free to stop by anytime. Good Luck with Flesh!
Views: 203
Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged fantasy, Flesh, HOrra, Laura Bickle, Paranormal, YA by Tena Stetler with 2 comments.
Interview with K.A. Emmons Author of The Blood Race
That’s an excellent question. I truly think that what defines me as a person and as a writer are definitely one and the same… for me, writing is simply part of who I am. It’s how I understand myself and the world around me. Writing is how I think and live. It helps me in every imaginable way. I’m a very faith-oriented person, and my writing is much the same; the stories I weave create themselves, springing from this idea that anything is possible, and that we are innately powerful beings with limitless potential. It’s ideas like these that totally power me as a person, and as a writer.
Did you tell friends and family that you were writing a book? Or did it take a while to come out and tell friends and family you were a writer?
I’ve been writing seriously since I was around 11 years old, and my family was actually instrumental in inspiring and encouraging me to write. I have incredibly inspiring artists for parents, and they were always motivating me to find my own path and pursue my dreams in unconventional ways. On top of that, my sister and I have always been very close. She’s a writer herself, and we spent most of our childhood sitting around our family’s dining room table with pots of tea and ink on our fingers; scribbling away at some new story idea.
What do you want your readers to take away from your books?
If even one of my readers takes away this idea that we are powerful and made for so much, well, I’d be thrilled. In my stories and characters I see a common race toward something bigger – a concept that fills me: that we are far more powerful than we realize, and that, no matter who we are, or where we come from, there is a warrior inside each and every single one of us, just waiting to break out.
Where do your story ideas come from? If they come to you in the middle of the night, do you get up and write them all down?
Ideas typically come flying at me like a rabid goose from out of left field, and I’m frightfully notorious for never writing anything down. I’m a brooder, so I typically just spend 90% of my time and energy thinking about the story and turning it round in my mind like a gem until the story is written and finished. I’ve always been fascinated by the illusive randomness of inspiration, actually – and how it often does come out of “nowhere”.
A peek between the pages of The Blood Race, Book One:
where I was or who I was really speaking to, in fact. Up until the car
incident, Sensei had simply been “the crazy old guy next door.” Now he was
beginning to feel like my only connection to sanity. I had no reason to trust
him, but something in me gravitated towards it.
you know about me?” I asked. “Hawk said that you’ve been watching me—how did
you find me? How did you know about my powers?”
eyes studied my face. “You still have not answered the question.”
for a moment, then let go of a sigh. “I don’t know the answer to your question.
I don’t even know who I am.”
to know who you are?” I nodded slightly.
the answer to the question,” he said. “You wish to learn who you really are.
Where you have come from. And it is for that reason that you have been brought
here.”
asked.
were created to protect that which is to come, Ion.”
it for a moment before shaking my head. “I don’t get it.” “Every generation to
walk the earth has, hidden within its repetition and
who will resist. A few who will realize that they are inherently different from
others,” Sensei replied. “Most will follow the pattern cut through the density
of the forest, because they are afraid to stray from that which is familiar.
But a few will stray—the anomalies. Those who recognize their own powers and
allow their abilities to guide them.”
word again. The word that had provoked me to the point of driving a knife
through Hawk’s hand only hours before. Coming from him, though, it didn’t have
the same effect.
dimension to protect you. Because you are the only ones who have awakened to
protect the future from what it has become.”
what the future is going to be like?” I asked. “You talk about it like it
already exists.”
said, “I have seen it.” “You’ve seen the future?”
I looked for the right word. “Dimension. You created it?”
“Wait, what?”
Hawk, when you altered reality with your very thoughts, you projected that
which is within you into that which is without. When you practice that for
eternity, this,” he gestured towards our surroundings, “is the result.”
every one of us… every one of the anomalies?” “From past, present, and future.”
starting to hurt.
one who fixed my face, weren’t you.” It wasn’t a question. Sensei nodded. “I
could imagine how much it hurt.”
imagined correctly.” I laughed mirthlessly. “God, this is
choice to make, Ion. Hawk will teach you how to utilize the portals, and you
may come and go.” He folded his hands. “Or you may return to your world
permanently—but you must tell no one what we have discussed or what you have
seen here.”
stay,” I said, without hesitation, surprising myself.
A peek between the pages of Worlds Beneath, Book Two:
if I said I wasn’t scared. The very things that were potential beacons of hope
were also bright red warning flags. There was no way for me to know what I was
walking into.
nightfall. Until the sky was dark and the stars were like sparkling pinpricks
in satin overhead. I watched him light a fresh fire after failing to rekindle
the last, using two rocks. It reminded me of my own newly acquired ability to
channel fire. When I thought about it, I could practically feel the heat
tingling in the tips of my wings.
cross-legged, by the fire, and the black wolves dispersed into the woods,
seeming on edge as the starlight flickered down through the trees. I heard
distant howls on occasion.
features were illuminated by the crackling fire. He seemed to have all but
forgotten I was there. He held a small journal in his hand and seemed to be
writing or making a sketch with charcoal.
again and went inside the shelter, and the opportunity for me to make my
entrance presented itself.
branch and flew several yards into the forest. I landed softly on the ground
below and transformed back into my human form. I didn’t want him to know I
could shift; that had to remain a secret.
my clothes and took a shaky breath.
halt at the very edge of the clearing, waiting to see if and when he would
emerge from the shelter. When he didn’t, I finally stepped forward into the
clearing.
in towards the flickering shades of yellow and orange. The snap of a twig under
my foot disrupted the chorus of crickets and the distant, occasional howls. It
was enough to cause an audible stir from within the shelter. A moment later the
curtain parted. The dark eyes met mine from across the flames. He stared at me
like someone who hadn’t seen another living soul in a hundred years.
completely. The connection between our eyes didn’t falter.
he asked, in a curious voice edged with an accent. “Where did you come from?”
deep breath, debating what kind of cover story to give.
replied slowly. “I followed one of the black wolves, and it led me here.”
watching his expression closely. “Where exactly is this place?” I asked.
for a moment longer, seeming puzzled by the question, and then he looked around
us. “Must everything have a name?” He seemed to be musing more than asking. “It
is reality. I know nothing beyond it.”
questioned. “You’ve always lived here?” He nodded. “It certainly feels like
it.”
here?” He nodded again. “How is that possible?”
turning his attention back to me. “Could I not ask the same of you?”
come up with something to say.
place like this, but covered in snow.” I thought back to the tunnel in the
embankment. “And then the wolf led me here. The wolves you talk to.”
moment longer and then smiled. “I talk to them because they are mine.”
the fire, picking up the journal and closing it. “It is hard for you to
understand, but if you stay, you will learn that no one knows where exactly
this place is.”
pick up a stick with which he began prodding the fire. “And no one knows how to
leave,” he said, seeming to muse once more to himself. “Or should I say,
escape.”
for a moment. “I don’t want to stay.” “You wish to find your way home, then?”
It was wonderful having you with us today. Please feel free to stop by anytime. Good Luck with The Blood Race Trilogy!
Views: 538
Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged KA Emmons, Paranormal, SciFi, The Blood Race, The Blood Race Trilogy and Worlds Beneath, Urband Fantsay Time Travel, Young Adult by Tena Stetler with comments disabled.
